


through the years

by angelheartbeat



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Alcohol, Arson, Campfires, Camping, Dialogue Heavy, Fireworks, Fluff, M/M, Mac has anxiety, Panic Attacks, Police, Stargazing, Teenagers, and at the very least he canonly has panic attacks, but like. unintentional arson, fight me if you think otherwise, here we are, it gets less dialogue heavy as it goes on, much as i believe fluff don't belong in iasip fic tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-17 07:22:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16511810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelheartbeat/pseuds/angelheartbeat
Summary: A series of items Mac and Charlie have stolen throughout their years of being white trash delinquents.





	through the years

**Author's Note:**

> "hey gray, write something besides child/teen charmac!" i tell myself  
> "die" i tell myself back
> 
> anyway hi

When they're 13, Mac and Charlie steal beers from Mrs Kelly's secret stash.

They sit in Charlie's room, laughing triumphantly and clinking their bottles together. Its simple and familiar - not the first time they've pulled off such a scheme.

"Do you ever think about, like, the future, dude?" Charlie asks, sprawled out flat on his floor. Mac frowns at him, head poked over the edge of Charlie's bed.

"Why would I do that? Shit's going great for us."

Charlie made a face of disagreement, but didn't comment. "Well, what d'you wanna do with your life?"

"I dunno. Karate, I guess."

"Karate isn't a career."

"Don't crush my dreams, bro. I'll be a bouncer or a bodyguard or something. Something tough."

"Psh, whatever you say, dude. I'm gonna be a lawyer."

"Charlie, you're illiterate."

"Doesn't matter. You can't stop me."

Mac rolls his eyes, slides off Charlie's bed so they're laying on the floor next to each other. "Maybe I'll be the bailiff at your court, then."

"Dude, I don't think lawyers have assigned courts. Be my personal bodyguard."

"You expecting to get attacked a bunch, or..?"

Charlie shrugs. "Maybe. Lawyers piss people off a lot."

"Lawyers piss me off. A lawyer sent my dad to jail."

"Would I piss you off if I became a lawyer?"

"Hell no, man. You could never piss me off."

"I so could."

"Yeah, I was lying. You piss me off all the time."

They both snort and chuckle, and Mac rolls over so he's facing Charlie.

"Maybe I'll become a priest," he suggests, and Charlie turns his head skeptically to look at him.

"You'd make a shitty priest."

"Fuck you, bro. I'd make an amazing priest."

"Aren't priests banned from sex or something?"

"Who gives a shit? You get a direct call line to the big guy upstairs. I'd definitely get into heaven if I became a priest. I could absolve my own sins and everything."

Charlie sits up and swigs from his beer. "Nah. You're going to hell no matter what, man."

Lazily, Mac reaches up and shoves Charlie over, setting off a mini wrestling match that consists mostly of weak punches and curse words. It peters out after a couple minutes and they end up sat leaning against Charlie's bed, legs outstretched.

"I'm definitely gonna become a priest now," Mac says. "So you'll eat shit because you were wrong."

"Whatever, man."

For a few minutes, they sit in silence. Their breathing is in sync, as it always seems to be. Through the window, golden evening shifts into crimson, before fading gently into blue. The light in the room dims, and the plasticky fake stars that Mrs Kelly stuck on Charlie's ceiling when he was a kid start to glow weakly.

They drink their way through the pack of beers, until eventually all the bottles are littered across Charlie's floor.

"I love you, dude," Charlie says, fully aware of how little Mac hears that.

"Love you too, bitch," Mac replies.

They sit there quietly again, until Mac suggests they go steal more beers.

* * *

When they're 15, Mac and Charlie steal the keys to an abandoned warehouse.

It wasn't exactly stealing, though. They'd been screwing around near the premises, and some old caretaker or something had passed them by. He'd told them to get off the property - it was due to be demolished in a couple days, and he didn't want them to get used to hanging out there and end up hurt. They yanked the keychain out of his hands and bolted.

So in a way, yeah, stealing was exactly what it was.

Ignoring a half-hearted yell after them, Mac and Charlie whoop in joy and zigzag towards the building, snickering all the way.

"Dumb old bitch doesn't know what he's talking about," Mac scoffs, jingling the key around in the lock. His hands are shaking. "Did he follow us?"

From his vantage point up on an old crate, Charlie shakes his head. "Can't see him."

The door creaks open, and the two boys sneak in with ease. The inside is a mess - crates and straw littered everywhere, dirt and grime on every surface. Mac's pretty sure he sees a bat dislodge itself and flicker off into the sky.

"What kind of warehouse d'you think this even was?" Mac asks, running his fingers along a slimy patch of wall and grimacing in disgust. Charlie shrugs, hopping up onto a crate.

"Dunno, bro. Its like whoever wrote this has never seen a warehouse in his life."

Mac pauses. "What?"

"What? Whats that over there?"

Charlie points, successfully distracting Mac with the stacked pile of half-open crates, straw spilling out of the sides.

"I bet its a rocket launcher or something," Mac says as they pick their way towards it. "Something off the dark web. Because someone probably got murdered in this warehouse."

"Someone definitely got murdered in this warehouse." Charlie peers over the top of a crate while Mac shifts the straw out of the way. Their eyes widen in unison when they spy the array of fireworks strewn about in the crates.

"Holy shit, bro," Mac breathes, holding a firework aloft. Charlie sets about digging in the rest of the crates, and piling up as many fireworks as he can reach. "We should set em off."

"Where?"

"Right here, idiot. It'll be our own private fireworks show."

"Won't that kill us?"

Mac waves a hand dismissively. "We'll be fine. Don't worry about it." He absolutely was worrying about it, but he wasn't gonna tell Charlie that, not in a million years.

"Alright, bro. Hey, come help me out here."

Mac drops his firework and trails over to help Charlie fish out the rockets, adding to the pile he's already created. Before long they have a pretty substantial amount, and Mac makes an executive decision that they'll set off the rest afterwards.

"So you'll run up, light a fuse, run back, and we'll bask in our glory," Mac tells Charlie, brandishing a lighter. Charlie frowns.

"Why do I have to light them?"

"I told you to, bitch. Now snap to."

Handing over the lighter, Mac raises his eyebrows, and Charlie decides not to complain. Instead, he grabs the lighter and jogs over to their pile, locating a fuse and lighting it as quick as he can before sprinting back to Mac and sitting down on their shared crate seat. They could just as easily grab another crate for Charlie, but somehow that doesn't occur to either of them.

Before long, the warehouse is bursting with a cacophony of explosions, bangs and pops, light and colour burning themselves into the boys' eyes. They both cheer in delight, and Mac's hand lands on top of Charlie's, only a little bit by chance.

"Do you think we should've invited the rest of the guys?" Charlie asks, barely audible over the noise, and Mac turns to look at him.

"Nah. I like it best just me and you."

Charlie doesn't comment on the cheesiness of the line, just grins and turns his hand upward so they're almost holding hands. Mac has the choice to close his hand so its official, and he takes it.

As if in a dream, their faces start to move closer together. They're a world away from how they normally are, a world away from Catholic guilt and homophobia and neglectful parents and school bullies. They're in their own bubble of too-loud explosions and quite literal sparks flying.

Just before their lips meet, though, they're interrupted by a whistling sound whizzing straight towards their heads, and they spring apart to see an errant rocket barrelling towards them.

"Fuck!" Mac yells, leaping out of the way. Charlie does the same as the firework hurtles into the wall and explodes in a shower of sparks. One of those sparks lands on a patch of dry straw, and a flame bursts into existence.

"Mac," Charlie says, pointing out the problem, and Mac's eyes widen comically.

"Aw, shit," he whispers, before grabbing Charlie's hand. They sprint out of the door, spurred on by the continuing explosions at their heels.

The fireworks die down once they get outside, but the soft glow of fire still shows through the door.

"We should call 911," Charlie says, and Mac nods in agreement, their eyes following the flicker as it crawls along the inside and up the wall. Their hands are still clasped together.

Before either of them can move, though, there's a great  _fwhoomph_ from the building, and the entire thing bursts into flames.

At the same time, the all-too-familiar sound of police cars draws near. Red and blue flashes fill what of the air isn't taken up by the orange glow of fire.

"That dickhead caretaker must've called them," Mac hisses. Lights turn on them, and they suddenly understand the expression  _frozen like a deer in headlights_.

"Put your hands up, sons," a booming voice calls out. "This is the police."

"What do we do?" Charlie whispers to Mac, who squeezes his hand.

"Run."

And then they're off like rockets, like fireworks, careening past the police cars and narrowly avoiding cops trying to grab them. Ash from the warehouse floats past them as they sprint away in desperation.

"My mom's gonna be pissed, dude," Charlie huffs, legs pounding against the sidewalk, somehow almost perfectly in sync with Mac's longer legs, before Mac makes a sharp turn into an alley and Charlie almost loses him.

"Lay low at my place," Mac says, and his voice sounds panicked, even moreso than Charlie feels. "My mom won't give a shit. She never does."

The sirens are still there, distant but there, and they keep running.

"Where are we going?" Charlie manages to get out between breaths, but Mac doesn't answer. When Charlie glances at his face, there's tears streaming down it.

They end up in an alley god knows how far away from the warehouse, but distant enough that the sirens have faded into the general tapestry of the city.

Mac slams his back against the wall and slides to the ground, hyperventilating slightly with a hand against his chest.

"You okay?" Charlie asks carefully. They'd been running at the same pace, they were about the same fitness, and yeah he was out of breath but not to the extent Mac was.

"Having a panic attack, bro," Mac chokes out. He's sweating, clearly overwhelmed, and Charlie has no idea what to do to help. "Just.. gimme a second."

Charlie sits down on the floor next to Mac, knowing that something must be really wrong just by how dirty the floor is - Mac would never normally sit on something so grimy. Even back in the warehouse he'd picked the cleanest crate to sit on.

They sit there quietly, air filled with the noises of the city and Mac's laboured breathing, until eventually the latter evens out. 

"We're gonna get stuck in juvie, bro," Mac says, scowling, mostly back to normal but with the familiar strands of fear still tugging visibly at his face. Charlie suddenly realises just how often that fear is present in Mac's face, even when he gets bossy and takes charge of their schemes, and he's filled with newfound respect and pity for his best friend.

"Worth it," he replies. Mac chuckles, letting his head knock gently against the brick wall behind them.

"It _was_ pretty fun, huh."

Neither of them seem to realise that they're still holding hands.

* * *

When they're 18, Mac and Charlie steal Dennis' car.

Well, no, this time they really don't steal it. They take his keys and leave a note telling him they'd be back in a couple days, maybe, and to keep sucking dick. It's not stealing if you tell the owner and you plan to bring it back.

They drive to a campsite just outside Philly, but Mac's sure to tell Charlie that they're still in Philadelphia. There, they set up camp and lit a fire, making sure to ignore any and all furious messages from Dennis, and the odd congratulations from Dee.

"I can't believe we made it through high school, dude," Mac says, ripping up a photo of his English teacher and tossing it onto the fire.

"I can't believe I didn't rip your head off for any of that time," Charlie replies, cooking a hot dog over the flickering face of Mrs Bingley.

Mac chuckles, leaning back on his folding chair with his hands behind his head. "We've been friends for way too long, Charlie."

"You sayin' you're sick of me?"

"God, finally you catch on."

They both laugh, and Charlie starts gnawing on his burnt hot dog. It's late, and the sky is twinkling with stars.

"You still got those stars on your ceiling?"

"Yeah, man. They don't even glow anymore. Don't wanna take em down, though."

"Lame."

"I'm not the one who was scared of the dark until he was 12."

Mac explodes instantly, springing to his feet and pointing accusatorily at Charlie. "Fuck you, man! That doesn't mean shit!"

Charlie puts his hands up in surrender, mouth full of hot dog, and Mac sits down quickly. 

"Goddamn, dude," Charlie says, spitting sausage out as he talks. "Chill out."

Mac grunts, sounding extraordinarily like his mother, before grabbing one of the beers they'd brought and downing half of it in one go.

"Sorry, man," he says after a while, watching the logs in the fire blacken. "I guess I'm pissed off about graduating."

Choosing not to mention that Mac just has outbursts a lot (not to say Charlie himself doesn't, he just seems to be more self aware than Mac is), Charlie focuses instead on his statement. "Thought you'd be glad it was all over. I sure as hell am."

"Well, yeah, but now everyone else is gonna go off to college, and I'm gonna be stuck here like a loser because I'm too broke to get in."

"I'm not going to college, bro. I can't afford it either. We can be losers together."

"They probably wouldn't let an illiterate into college anyway."

Charlie leans over and punches Mac's arm, hard, in lieu of verbally saying  _not cool, man._ Mac doesn't retaliate - his way of saying  _yeah, I guess I deserved that._

After a while, several more beers, hot dogs and banter, the fire crackles out and they find themselves sat on the hood of Dennis' car, staring up into the sky and watching the stars stare back.

They've been in each others company for so long, on and off for years, that their breath naturally falls into an alternating rhythm. Even through all the shitty arguments, flipping between hating each other more than they can describe and being the best of friends, all the stealing and trouble and summer school, they're both aware and sure that they could just as easily fall back into their rhythm. Mac half entertains the thought that if he measured their heartbeats, they'd be exactly in sync.

It's a dumb thought, but as he looks over at Charlie, he finds that he kinda likes it. Yeah. They'll always have each others backs, no matter how bad they piss each other off.

"We'll always be best friends, right, Charlie?" Mac asks, uncharacteristically soft. Something about the combination of stealing a car, the catharsis of burning up his teachers, the beers, Charlie's freckled face outlined against the backdrop of sky and trees, the stars and the weed Charlie insisted on smoking with their smores has got him much calmer than normal - definitely calmer than he was earlier.

Charlie snorts. "Now who's lame? Of course we will. As long as you don't bang Dennis and forget about me."

"I wouldn't bang Dennis. I'm not gay."

"Yeah, ok."

"I'm not! Fuck you, man, I'm baring my soul to you here-"

"Hey, I'm kidding. Chill out, buddy. You're not gay."

Charlie imperceptibly rolls his eyes, but Mac doesn't notice, just lies back against the windshield of Dennis' car and continues to stare up at the sky.

After a long stretch of quiet, during which Charlie downs a full beer, Mac speaks.

"Do you think my parents actually love me?"

Charlie starts. Mac's never been so frank before, always skirting around the issues and burying them down deep. This is uncharted territory. "You want the truth?"

Mac's eyes are sparkling. Charlie thinks it might be tears. "Yeah, I want the truth."

"Nah."

For a second, Charlie worries he's said entirely the wrong thing, because Mac's entire body goes stiff with barely contained rage. Then he slumps. "Yeah. Thats what I was afraid of."

"Yeah, but who gives a shit anyway, man? Everyone's parents fuck them up big time. Where's this coming from anyway?"

"I don't fuckin' know, bro. I just feel like I've been lying to myself all this time."

Charlie scoffs. "Well, yeah. Everyone knows that."

Mac goes quiet again. "I think I'd like to believe they still love me," he says softly, and the admissions of feelings tonight have all been so out of character that Charlie's starting to wonder if Mac was replaced with someone else.

"We'd all like to believe shit that ain't true, buddy." Like that Charlie doesn't flinch when he sees his uncle, like Mac's straight and tough, like either of them have any semblance of emotional stability.

An owl hoots distantly.

"Tell me about bird law," Mac says suddenly, voice snapped back to his usual rough, white-trash harshness, all the gentle vulnerability of before gone. Charlie's not gonna poke further, though. He just starts rattling off everything he knows about the obscurities of bird law, and he doesn't even care when Mac nods off halfway through.

* * *

When they're 6, Mac and Charlie steal each other's hearts for the first time.

When they're 40, Mac and Charlie steal glances at each other from across the room, and they know they'll always be in sync.

 

**Author's Note:**

> ive injured my hand and given that i only write on my phone this was hell to type bc my hand is all bandaged up and like. cant use one of my thumbs
> 
> look i jus rly love writing shit that in my head belongs in an indie movie. does that translate at all into words? probly not
> 
> incoherency is my middle name  
> follow me on tumblr @thoriffix
> 
> leave comments or ill shank u up


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